He shakes his head slowly, eyes still guarded and wary. His right eye is bruised and swollen and there’s a cut along his cheekbone.

I take a step closer to him, close enough that if he were to lunge for me, he might be able to just grab at the hem of my nightgown. I’m not afraid of him, but I hesitate to get any closer. “When was the last time you ate?” I ask.

He thinks about it for a moment. “That gods-forsaken banquet when I returned from Vecturia,” he says, his voice raw. “I couldn’t stomach much, with everything.”

Everything. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the revealing dress the Kaiser made me wear that night, the way he treated me like I was his to display however he liked. His hands on me, searing like a brand. S?ren had looked ill, though I’d imagine it was a good deal easier to witness than it was to withstand.

“You’re supposed to be getting rations like everyone else,” I say. “Dragonsbane promised me you would be fed.”

He glances away. “Rations have been delivered thrice a day without fail. They force water down my throat but they haven’t yet forced me to eat.”

He still won’t look at me, so I let myself look at him. In just a few days, his skin has stretched tightly over his bones, making him look more specter than person. Unbidden, I wonder what his mother would think if she could see him now, but I push that thought away before the Kaiserin can shame me from beyond the grave.

“Why aren’t you eating?” I ask him.

He pulls his knees up, curling in on himself. I take a step closer.

“Many years ago, my father had the Theyn train me how to be a hostage,” he says. Talking seems to pain him, but he continues. “My father said we had a lot of enemies and that we had to be prepared. The first thing the Theyn taught me was not to eat their food.”

I can’t help but snort. “You think we poisoned it?”

He shakes his head. “It’s about control. As long as I refuse to eat, you are on my terms. You don’t want me dead or you would have killed me already, which means you need me. But the second I accept your food, I become dependent on you and lose that control. It’s a mind game, little better than a staring contest.” He pauses for a second. “Back then I made it three days without food. It’s easier this time—mostly I’m in too much pain to remember to be hungry.”

He doesn’t say it like he’s looking for pity or an apology, just stating a simple fact. I close the distance between us and pick up the tray, setting it down in front of him.

“I need you to eat, S?ren,” I say, but he doesn’t move. “I’m not your enemy.”

At that, he laughs, but the sound is weak.

“Friends, enemies, I don’t think it matters anymore. The chains are just as heavy, no matter who holds the key,” he says.

“I know a thing about chains, even if my own were usually metaphorical,” I tell him.

He has the grace to look shamed by that, his eyes finally finding mine. “Is it everything you thought it would be? Freedom?”

It should be a simple question, but it lodges in my gut, a dagger slipping between my ribs. I used to dream about the day I would finally leave the palace, how I would stand under an open sky without enemies on all sides, how I would breathe without that weight on my chest.

“I’ll let you know when I get it,” I tell him.

Something sparks in his eyes. “The woman who had me brought down here. I’ve seen her a couple of times. The others respect her. The captain, I would assume—the notorious Dragonsbane?”

I hesitate before nodding. “My aunt,” I admit. “My mother’s twin.”

The shock plays over his face, clear as words on a page.

“You’re working with her?” he asks.

“That was the plan, but…it’s more complicated than I thought,” I tell him. “I want to get you out of here, but she won’t let you go easily. When you do get out, though, I’m going to need you strong. I need you to eat.” I nudge the tray toward him again.

His eyes linger on mine for a moment before he unfolds his legs and looks down at the tray. “Start at the beginning,” he says, picking up a piece of hardtack and trying to break it in two. It takes more of an effort than it should, but he gets it eventually. “And tell the truth this time.”

I expect there to be a barb in that, but it isn’t there. Once more, he says it like a simple fact.

So I tell him everything. I tell him about killing Ampelio, who I always thought would be the one to rescue me. I tell him how I decided to save myself. I tell him about Blaise showing up and how much worse things were in Astrea than I realized, how many thousands of people the Kaiser had killed. I tell him how I realized that saving myself wasn’t enough.

Though the words stick in my throat, I force myself to tell him about the plan Blaise and I hatched, how I was supposed to seduce him for information and turn him against the Kaiser. I force myself to admit that I was the one who decided to kill him in order to turn the Kalovaxians against one another and start a civil war.

I expect him to balk at that, to look at me like he doesn’t know me at all, but his mind is already plotting. I can see it in the faraway look in his eyes, the way his mouth is pursed and twisted to one side.

“If you had done it, it might have worked,” he admits.

“I know.”

Neither of us talks about the moment in the tunnels beneath the palace, when I held my dagger to his back and he was so ridden with guilt about the lives he had taken in Vecturia that he told me to do it. Neither of us talks about why I didn’t.

“What happened to Erik?” he asks.

Erik. I haven’t thought about him since the last time I saw him.

“I told him to get Hoa and get out of the palace. I imagine he must have or the Kaiser would have brought her out with Elpis. I hope they’re somewhere nice, wherever it is,” I say.

He nods slowly, eyebrows drawn tightly together. “He’s my brother,” he says slowly, and I wonder if it’s the first time he’s ever said it out loud.

“Half,” I say.

“And what a half it is,” he agrees, voice dripping with derision. “Tell me about Dragonsbane.”

I tell him how she tries to undermine me every chance she gets, how she paints me as a well-meaning but incompetent child who cannot possibly rule, and how she acts like my loving aunt who only wants what’s best for me and Astrea.

“What do you think she does want?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I think she wants to help Astrea—it’s her country, after all—but she also wants to profit from it. Blaise said she charged Astrean families for safe passage to other countries. Helping them, but profiting. And she’s trying to marry me off to someone royal. She said they would have the troops needed to take Astrea back, but I’m sure there’s something else in it for her for managing me.”

At that, S?ren gives a wry smile. “She doesn’t know, though, how difficult you are to manage.”

“I think she’s starting to get an idea.”

He eats the last bit of dried meat and his stomach grumbles, already demanding more.

“So we start there,” he says. “If we left for Sta’Crivero four days ago, we should be there in three days. We can use that time to strategize. I know a little bit about the other rulers and I have a decent idea of who will send their heirs to woo you.”

“I have no desire to be wooed,” I say before hesitating. “But hypothetically, would there be any decent choices in the lot?”

He considers it for a moment. “It would depend on what you’re looking for.”

“Ideally? A way to get my country back without giving full sovereignty over to a stranger with the highest bid,” I tell him.

He shakes his head. “No one will go up against my father if they have nothing to personally gain from it.”

“I was worried you might say that,” I say, taking the tray from him. I glance at the small porthole above his head, where dawn light filters through. “I’m going to go get breakfast, but I’ll come back right after. I’ll bring you some more food as well, and you can tell me more about the potential suitors.”

For an instant I think he might protest, but instead he nods.

I start to stand up, but before I can, he reaches out and grabs my wrist. His bloody fingers encircle it completely and hold firm in a way that makes my breath catch, despite the atmosphere of the brig and the chains and the blood. I’d forgotten the effect his touch has on me. I want to pull away but I also don’t.

“Yana Crebesti, Theodosia,” he says.

The words catch in my throat. I trust you. After everything I’ve done to him—everything we’ve done to each other—trust shouldn’t exist between us. But here he is, putting his faith in me.

I look down at his hand around my wrist and then back at him. “Theo,” I tell him. “You can call me Theo.”

“Theo,” he repeats before letting go of my wrist.